


another night in this home

by shizuoh



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, background bokuaka lol, kind of, spoilers for chapters 365 onwards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 06:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21175139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shizuoh/pseuds/shizuoh
Summary: For a long period of time, the ball goes back and forth. Nobody is willing to let it fall, and nobody is willing to let the other win. It’s obvious that Kamomedai is stronger than them, more talented, but Karasuno is strong too, and he believes in perseverance, in willpower.It’s why it doesn’t surprise him when Narita slams the ball down with finality. It’s why it doesn’t surprise him when the score goes from 25 to 26. It’s why it doesn’t surprise him when they win.(or: the way the recent chapters should have gone)





	another night in this home

**Author's Note:**

> dialogue and events in the first scene are taken directly from chapters 365 and 366. spoilers, obviously.
> 
> if you follow me on tumblr you know how pissed i've been about the recent chapters. i won't go too deep into here, but just know that we got fucked over. so in my anger, i decided to try and fix it. this is a vague jumbling of my thoughts. one day i may go back and revise it. for now, enjoy.

He isn’t sure where the breathlessness comes from — is it the fever? the anxiety? the adrenaline from the game? — but he can feel the tightness around his body. It coils from his stomach all the way up to his throat. His vision is shaking and no matter how hard he tries it will not focus. His entire body feels numb but ready for action at the same time.

They’re close. They’re so  _ damn  _ close, he can feel it. He ignores the way tears burn behind his eyes. He ignores the cool hand of his teacher on his warm forehead. He ignores the trembling of his hands. 

“You’ve been buzzing around like you’re on an adrenaline high for almost two days,” Kageyama is saying, or is it Kageyama? Everything sounds so muffled. “It’s no surprise that you’d run yourself into the ground eventually.”

There’s a pause as his teammates murmur and glance about themselves. His teacher pulls out a thermometer and measures him, and reads aloud the temperature recorded —  _ 39.1 C.  _ As soon as he hears it, all of his adrenaline comes crashing down. Panic settles in.  _ Reality  _ settles in.

“It’s not like I’m hurt or anything!” he exclaims desperately, jumping to his feet with the rest of the strength he’s suddenly lost. “I can still move! I can still fly!” His voice cracks at the end, and he’s become hysterical. He grabs onto his coach’s arms and digs his fingernails into the fabric of his jacket. He has to play. He  _ has  _ to play. “I’m not hurt, coach! It’s not an injury!”

Takeda- _ sensei _ grabs him by the shoulders and sits him back down onto the bench. It feels so finalizing but he wants to get back up and fight. He has to  _ fly.  _

“This is the same as what happened to Sawamura- _ kun _ in the prelims,” Takeda-sensei says matter-of-factly. “Hinata- _ kun _ , go to the medical station and have them confirm that you’re alright.”

Silence. Even with the rush of other players and the crowd around him, he feels nothing.

“Go on. Hurry now.”

He doesn’t move. Anger pierces through him and all he hears in the blood rushing through his veins. His fists clench against the metal of the bench and he resists the urge to punch it. His rage must show on his face — a few of his teammates step back, and Takeda- _ sensei’ _ s look suddenly grows hard.

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” he says, “but I’m going to say it to you anyway. Right now . . . I cannot in good conscience allow you back out onto that court.”

His shoulders fall and he feels like a boulder has struck him. Not even the pain from the fever could compare to this.

“Hinata,” Takeda _ -sensei  _ tries again, kneeling down to his level and taking his shaking hands. “Given how much you couldn’t play during middle school, more than anyone . . . you love and appreciate the simple joy of playing in a game. And when you  _ can’t  _ . . . I know it must frustrate you more than anything. That’s why, and this is the important part, Hinata- _ kun _ , I want you to engrave this feeling on your heart. Remember this feeling and tell yourself that you will never,  _ ever  _ allow this to happen again. Make sure it  _ never  _ does.”

He can’t even find it in him to take a single breath. The room suddenly feels much hotter. Takeda- _ sensei _ is staring at him, though, watching him, so he manages to give the smallest nod possible. 

“You once said that someday you will win a gold medal. Multiple gold medals. Do you remember? Well, now you know that there are walls that you can’t get over with grit and gumption alone. When you hit those walls, what you need most are knowledge, a level head, and most of all, thoughtfulness.”

He finally breathes; he inhales shakily, intense emotion suddenly overcoming him.

“Hinata- _ kun. _ ” The hard tone of his teacher’s voice makes his eyes snap back to him. “Right now, this very moment — this is still volleyball. Concentrate on what you need to do to win.”

A broken sob escapes his throat. He can’t hold back the burning of his eyes anymore and his vision blurs. His bottom lip quivers and he sucks it into his mouth to hold it tight between his teeth.

“You of all people . . . must always be prepared at a moment’s notice. Be the one that’s  _ always  _ at the very front of the line when opportunity comes knocking.”

There are a few moments of quiet where he and his teacher hold gazes. Then, he lowers his head, and starts crying in earnest. 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, his voice hardly a whisper. “I’m really sorry.”

His teammates — he can see them clearly now — all gather around him. He feels Yamaguchi’s arm around his back. Daichi and Asahi are giving him matching expressions. Kageyama comes closer behind him, and his presence is both daunting and soothing. 

Suddenly, Tanaka starts  _ laughing _ . “Messin’ around so much you gave yourself a fever? What are you, a toddler?”

The mood lightens up and everyone else starts laughing.

“How is that any surprise?” Tsukishima’s familiar grating voice stars. “Hinata has always had the brain of a toddler. Give him one good night’s sleep and I’m sure the  _ Mini-Stamina-Freak _ will be as irritating as ever.” 

Any other time, he’d turn and glare and maybe even yell, but the tears are still falling, and his heart swells.

“Don’t worry, Shouyou!” Nishinoya shouts proudly. “Leave it to me an’ Kazuhito!”

“No guarantees everything’s going to go just fine,” Narita says, giving Nishinoya a weird look, “but I can say I’m way less nervous than I was back in the prelims, at least.”

The others who are usually on the bench start stuttering nervously, but the fact that they’re all trying to give him words of encouragement makes him smile, even just a little.

Daichi comes up to him and suddenly engulfs him in a big, sweaty hug. It lingers for a moment, and then he pulls away. “We’ll miss you out there,” he says firmly. “There’s no way we wouldn’t.” A pause. “Hinata. This team will never be the same without you. So please, go eat and get some sleep!”

This time, when Daichi hugs him again, the entire team rushes up and joins, squishing him between several larger bodies. It makes him feel suffocated and sort of makes him feel even sicker, but he doesn’t say anything. His heart is pounding so hard he thinks it’s going to burst out of his chest, and he feels warm all over — not just from the fever. He closes his eyes and reaches up to wipe at his nose. The whimpering sounds coming from his throat must be embarrassing but he can’t bring himself to stop them.

Sugawara is the first to pull away from the group hug. “Looks like somebody gets to have tonight’s ginger pork early!”

“Dude, greasy!” Tanaka rebuts. “Start with rice porridge first!”

“Make sure you bundle up and stay nice and warm, okay?” Asahi says.

“Sure thing, Grandma!” shouts Nishinoya.

The team pulls away and backs off — all except for Kageyama. Just as he starts to get his bearings and stands firmly on two feet, Kageyama steps up to him, and in another time, he would have considered him to be towering, terrifying. Not now.

“So you’re gonna stand on the court longer than anyone else, huh?”

He flashes back to their first real meeting. This time, he doesn’t feel the need to stand on something. He doesn’t feel the need to meet his eyes equally. Kageyama is always looking at him, anyway.

“Ha!” Kageyama laughs, but not with amusement. “I win again.”

He stares for a moment, and reaches up to furiously wipe his tears with his arm. When he looks at Kageyama again, he reaches out his hand. Kageyama takes it with a grin, and they lock their fists together, grip so tight that nothing could pull them apart.

They stay that way for what feels like a long time, but he eventually lets go of Kageyama’s hand. Their touch lingers before Yachi puts a hand on his shoulder and starts to lead him away. They make their way towards the doors that lead out of the gym, and each step feels like a death sentence.

He stops. Yachi turns and is about to rush back over to him, but he just turns his back to her and goes to face the court. He has an awful feeling, and looks over each court with an intensity he had not felt before.

He bows deeply, and hangs there for a minute. Kamomedai bows back.

When he walks out of the gym and the doors slam shut behind him, it feels like his life is over.   
  


* * *

He barely feels the car moving, the way his eyes are so fixed onto the screen Kenma had given him. 

Kamomedai is a very talented team. He has to admit that much, or else everything is pointless. Even while off the court, he can feel the determination rushing through his team. He can feel the void he’s left with his absence, and his team struggles for a bit to get used to the new dynamics with the unfamiliar players. But soon enough, they’re rushing back, stronger than ever. The score comes closer and closer to being tied.

Kamomedai then substitutes two players, and he doesn’t even realize he’s mumbling to himself about their choices until Yachi gives him a look and starts replying back to him. Even if she isn’t completely knowledgeable about everything that’s going on, it’s an easy distraction from the anxiety that threatens to tear him apart.

His vision blurs against the brightness of the screen and he squeezes his eyes shut to regain focus. When he opens them, there’s the sound of rushing cheers, and Tanaka is raising his fist in the air and grinning.  _ 22-22, _ he reads on the screen, and he wants to throw up and cry all at once. He can see his team punching through that wall.

The camera moves to Kageyama. His eyes are locked onto his form, and the way he moves, and for a second he thinks that maybe Kageyama is watching back, that maybe he’s doing this for him. It’s like he’s daring him to look away even for a moment.  _ Watch, _ Kageyama’s eyes say, pupils blown so dark there’s hardly any color to be seen,  _ this is your court too. _

(As if he could ever look away. As if volleyball could be anything without Kageyama in it.)

He and Yachi are pressed so closely together that he’s sure she’s going to catch his illness. Neither of them bother to move away and they ignore the comments of the adults in the front seats — don’t lean so close to the screen, you’ll hurt your eyes.

_22-23,_ and Tsukishima’s just been pulled out because of a leg cramp. Their breathing both halts, and on the screen he can see Tsukishima yelling about something, but the words of the announcer are too loud for him to hear properly.

“ _ Of all the timing! It seems Karasuno as a team is on their last legs! _ ”

_ You’re wrong, _ he wants to tell them.  _ We’ll come back. We’ll win. _

Yachi squeezes her eyes shut and buries her face in his shoulder. He brings the tablet closer to his face as he watches his team struggle even further. He can see the expressions of desperation on their faces, can see how they frantically wipe their sweaty hands on their even sweatier uniforms. The second years who are usually never on the court are breathing heavily, their eyes are frantically darting from side to side. He wants to be there so  _ badly _ , he wants to expel this sickness from his body and jump and fly, but he sits here, his friend’s weight on his shoulder and his hopes rising and falling with every pass of the ball.

Yamaguchi jumps up and slams the ball down with all of his might.  _ 23-23. _

_ One more point, _ he almost whispers. Yachi takes a peek at the screen and makes a screaming noise. There isn’t even any time to process everyone moving on the tablet until Kamomedai suddenly gains another point.  _ 23-24, _ it now reads, with Kamomedai at set and game point.

His throat feels dry. He wants to shut his eyes and hide like Yachi is doing, but instead his grip tightens on the sides of the tablet so hard that he’s almost afraid he’ll break it. Yachi’s face buries further into his shoulder and he lets out a slow exhale. His trembling is getting harder and harder as he watches his team move around the court, desperate not to let the ball touch the ground. His feet are shuffling around on the car floor, imagining he’s there. If he tries hard enough, he can hear the squeaking of his shoes on the court. The pad of his finger digs into a smudge on the side of the tablet.

It goes back and forth and back and forth — the ball — and he almost feels just like it with the way it keeps getting deflected. His eyes go dizzy from trying to follow it; the exchange is chaotic, almost violent. His team is exchanging looks he wishes he was a part of, but he has faith. He _has_ to have faith. 

In a sudden move, Daichi rushes over and receives the ball with his arms over his head. There’s shrieks from the crowd and the announcer is going wild. Asahi runs and jumps up, and with the force of the entire team behind him, his spike breaks through the unbreakable shield. The ball flies up, and up, and other members of Kamomedai run frantically around their side of the court. He’s staring, unblinking, entire body frozen as Hoshiumi jumps up to spike. His face is so clear with raw determination that it’s all but terrifying. He spikes, and Nishinoya rushes to receive, but it bounces off and away from his arm. Everything goes silent and _this is it,_ he thinks, they’ve lost, and his first-year career is over, and he’ll never—

Tanaka receives the ball last minute with his hand so suddenly that the scream that tears itself from his throat burns. Yachi jumps up from his shoulder and makes the same exact noise. His entire body is trembling and he can’t stop moving, can’t stop shaking the tablet around. He’s only half-aware he’s hyperventilating, and he pulls the mask down from his face only to start laughing uncontrollably.

Karasuno is even fiercer now, strengthened by the sudden luck. Tanaka is rubbing his hand and it looks red and like it hurts but he ignores it. Kamomedai is scrambling but it’s clear that Karasuno’s got the upper hand now.

_ 24-24. _

In a blur, Karasuno gets another point.

_ 25-24. _

The adults pull over the car and lean over to watch the tablet with him. Yachi is yelling but the rest of them are dead silent. He wonders if he’s bending the tablet with how hard he’s holding onto it.

For a long period of time, the ball goes back and forth. Nobody is willing to let it fall, and nobody is willing to let the other win. It’s obvious that Kamomedai is stronger than them, more talented, but Karasuno is strong too, and he believes in perseverance, in willpower. 

It’s why it doesn’t surprise him when Narita slams the ball down with finality. It’s why it doesn’t surprise him when the score goes from  _ 25  _ to  _ 26 _ . It’s why it doesn’t surprise him when they win.

Everyone on the screen goes wild and so does everyone in the van. Yachi throws her arms around his neck and hugs him tight, fever be damned, and he finally looks away from the screen to close his eyes and start crying again. These tears are thicker, heavier, and warmer, and they don’t taste of desolate sadness. His team on the screen are hugging too, and if he tries hard enough, he can imagine he’s there with him, hands stinging just as much as his eyes.

_ They did it, they did it, _ he thinks.  _ We did it. _

He looks at the tablet, and his team is grinning right at the camera.

* * *

(As promised, his team graciously hands him a heaping portion of ginger pork  _ and  _ rice porridge that night. He doesn’t cry again, but he gets real damn close.)

* * *

His fever whittles itself down overnight, after he sleeps for several more hours than he probably should. His headache is easily put off by some painkillers and his coach keeps some tissues on hand, but when he’s awake, he feels like he’s woken up for the first time in a long time. His legs feel like jelly and he has to sit, but he’s not alone on that.

“I knew you guys were able to do it,” he says to his team, earnestly, as they look over the results of the other teams playing. 

Daichi grins. “Well, we wouldn’t have done it without—”

“I thought I was about to die on that last point there,” interrupts Tanaka, looking down at his red hand. When he realizes he’s interrupted, he looks up and gives a sheepish smile.

Daichi rolls his eyes. “As I was saying, we wouldn’t have done it without Narita’s last spike. I think we were all too wiped out to try anything risky.” He grins. “We were lucky to have you there. The others, too.”

The second years grin back.

“Who do we face in the semifinals?” Sugawara asks.

Daichi looks. “Fukurodani,” he says slowly.

The entire team is quiet for a moment. Tanaka leans his head back and groans.

“Well,” he speaks up, his voice somewhat muffled by the tissues stuck up his nose, “I think we can do it.”

“Are you even well enough to play, Hinata?”

After a moment, Tanaka decides that the other’s resounding glare is answer enough. He just shrugs, and nods. “Alrighty then.”

He’s shaking with excitement from getting to play Fukurodani, in the semifinals, no less. He knows he isn’t going to be up to full strength, but he’s lucky enough to be let onto the court during the game. He wants so desperately to face his mentor when he’s himself; when he’s up to full capacity, running on nothing but adrenaline itself. Right now, it’s resolve that keeps him upright. 

(He has a feeling that right after the game is over, his fever is going to come back full force. He takes another painkiller.)

* * *

When Bokuto sees him, he rushes over to him and throws him into a hug, even spinning him around for good measure. It makes him so dizzy he thinks he’s going to be sick. 

“Bokuto- _ san _ ,” comes a voice that sounds scolding and fond all at once.

“Oh,” says Bokuto, and he graciously puts him down, “sorry! I forgot you were sick!”

“I’m not sick anymore,” he says, but Akaashi gives him a look that tells him that they clearly don’t believe him.

“Just keep your strength up until the game,” Akaashi says, and then moves to reach into a nearby bag. He pulls out a weird-looking energy drink and holds it out.

“‘kaashi always has those funny drinks lying around,” Bokuto laughs.

Akaashi gives him a look. “They’re  _ organic _ .”

He reaches out to take it. Unscrewing the cap, he peers inside to stare at the vaguely-green liquid before throwing all caution to the wind and taking a huge swig. He immediately coughs and almost spits it all over himself. He brings his hand up to catch what spills over his lip. 

It tastes _ awful,  _ but if he wants to be as good as Fukurodani, he has to take risks.

“How is it?” Akaashi asks.

“Good,” he lies, wiping his hand on his pants.

“Liar,” laughs one of Fukurodani’s team members —  _ Konoha, _ he thinks — as he nudges the side of another. “You can see the pain in his eyes.”

Ignoring them, he leans in to sniff the drink. It smells almost . . . 

“Herb-y,” he says decidedly.

“ _ Herbal, _ ” Akaashi corrects, but he’s smiling.

“Carbon-copy,” Konoha decides.

“Sniffs it  _ after  _ he drinks it,” says the other teammate, who is much shorter than the others. “I can see the family tree.”

“You looked messed up after that game the other day,” Konoha then says directly to him. “What kind of drugs did you take to get better? I might need some.”

“I — it wasn’t _ drugs, _ it was just . . . painkillers—”

“Drugs,” Konoha says. The other next to him nods seriously.

“I think it’s amazing you were able to bounce back so quickly!” Bokuto exclaims, throwing an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. “When I get sick, I just stop being sick, and then everything turns out fine!”

“You truly have the willpower of a god, Bokuto,” says Konoha.

“ _ No _ ,” Akaashi says, “you pretend you  _ aren’t  _ sick until you just can’t ignore it anymore.”

“No I don’t!”

“Then you text me begging me to come over and nurse you back to health.”

“Akaashi, stop exposing me!”

“Oh, Bokuto’s a  _ begger, _ huh?”

“Stop! Not in front of the child!”

The back and forth conversation is making him even dizzier than any illness ever could. He’s still locked under Bokuto’s grip, but as he watches the banter between teammates, he finds himself smiling and laughing along with them. 

This is a team that  _ deserves  _ to win, he thinks, but he’s damn sure that he’s not going to make it easy for them.

* * *

It’s incredible — the way Bokuto’s gaze immediately shifts when the whistle goes off. He goes from a bright smile to a wild animal preparing to attack. The rest of Fukurodani moves along with him, too. The way they all fit together as one is something that he’ll never be able to forget. All of them are glowing like stars, golden against the bright lights of the gym. This is a team determined to win but so is Karasuno, and they all feel that if they could have won last round then maybe they can win this one too — maybe they can go even further, fly even higher. He’d give anything to go to the very top with this team, with all of its players. With Kageyama. He looks around at all of his teammates and sees the look on their faces, sees the way they are all poised to fight, despite the pain and hardship. Fukurodani has the same exact expressions.

His legs are burning when he takes his first step. 

* * *

The game takes hours, it feels like. He falls once, twice, then a third time, until his knees are hurting even through his pads. The amount of times he’s dived to save a ball he couldn’t count on his two hands. The amount of times he’s leapt up only to get blocked falls into the double-digits.

_Formidable._ It’s the only way he can describe Fukurodani now.

Karasuno is good but Fukurodani is better. Karasuno is strong but Fukurodani is stronger. The points keep switching back and forth — one team in the lead, then another — until nobody knows where the ball could be next. If the match against Kamomedai was violent, then this one is mighty. If the match against Kamomedai was a desperate battle against certain death, then this one is like a dream. He feels unrestrained as he flies. He feels almost  _ wild. _

In the end, they lose anyway.

It’s not so much of a blow. When he watches the ball hit their own side of the court, he feels nothing but passion. Nothing but pride. The rest of his teammates are shaking with clashing emotions and Fukurodani is on the other side cheering and hugging.

He remains standing for a moment, and then falls to his knees. Bracing himself up with his arms, he watches his own sweat drip onto the floor, and laughs. He laughs and laughs until he cries. He cries until his teammates surround him and kneel with him. He hugs them until they’re all laughing too. Soon enough, Fukurodani comes over and laughs with them. 

The end of spring does not go away with a bang. Rather, it goes softly, it goes calmly. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

* * *

(“I’m going to become you,” he tells his mentor, surrounded by both of their teams. “No, I’m going to come back and be  _ better  _ than you.”

There’s a moment where Bokuto looks bewildered, but then he just beams. “You damn well better!”)

* * *

He has to wash his face in the bathroom, feeling the redness and the heat swiftly coming back at full force. The headache is returning. His entire body feels weaker than before, but he thanks everything he can think of that he was able to play today, until the end.

When he walks out of the bathroom, Kageyama is there waiting for him. He’s leaning against the wall alone, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. The rest of the team must be packing up, he figures, but when Kageyama turns to look at him, he grins. 

Kageyama smiles back, and it’s genuine. 

“So you’re gonna stand on the court longer than anyone else, huh?” Kageyama says, again, except the emotion from before is void and filled with hope rather than despair. His voice echoes through the empty hallway. 

When he steps closer to him, Kageyama pushes himself off the wall and pulls his hands from his pockets, turning to face him fully. Now he’s sure that he could never tower over him again. Never again.

“Of course we are,” he says, and pulls Kageyama’s head down to kiss him.

* * *

Some time later, he watches with the rest of his team the moment Fukurodani wins nationals. It’s an intense affair, and there’s a moment where it seems like the winning team can’t even believe it. There’s silence for one moment, then two, and in the third they all explode and scream and rush towards one another in a group hug so heavy that they all collapse to the ground under the weight of it.

He can see the love in all of their eyes. He can feel the trust that wafts in and around each and every one of them. He can’t hear what they’re saying but he’s sure he can imagine.

This is a team that  _ deserves  _ it, he decides. Shouyou is determined to become that team. If not next year, then the one after that. He will not rest until he’s just as strong as Bokuto Koutarou.

**Author's Note:**

> [my blog](http://haikuyus.tumblr.com/)


End file.
